The Second Mrs. Astor(41)

“What’s mine is yours.”

“How reassuring.”

They fell quiet again. From back inside the main saloon came the sound of the dinner service being cleared by the stewards, china clattering, the occasional silvery chime of crystal meeting crystal. The last, lingering fragrance of the asparagus hollandaise, the veal cordon bleu, wafting past the door.

Katherine said, “Do you remember that Easter back when we were fourteen or fifteen, when we went to supper at the Mackays’, and there was that boy staying there, that handsome, handsome boy—”

“Alasdair something,” Madeleine said, flashing on a set of bright green eyes, a golden mane of hair, a roguish smile.

“Yes. Alasdair . . . something. A cousin come to visit all the way from Scotland, with that gorgeous accent.”

Madeleine nodded at the water. “I remember.”

“I never told you this before—I never told anyone—but he kissed me that night.”

She turned. “What?”

“He kissed me in the portrait gallery off the dining room, in the shadows, in the dark. And it was lovely. He kissed me more than once. And then he told me that he wanted to marry me—in retrospect, I’m sure he’d gotten into the Riesling—and for that, I let him kiss me a fifth time.”

Madeleine’s mouth had dropped open. Katherine smiled, pushed the end of her finger against her sister’s chin to close it up again.

“Do you know what I said to him, that boy with the soft red lips and the gorgeous accent, who tasted of sweet, forbidden wine?”

“No.”

“I told him that I would not marry him, because we were too young, and I didn’t want to fall in love with the idea of love. I wanted actual love, not a looking-glass reflection of it. Not stolen kisses, or sotted promises. I wanted the truth of love, the pure molten core of it, because anything short of that was just a cheat.”

“My. I had no idea you were so sagacious at fifteen.”

“Then he asked me how I knew this wasn’t the truth, real love, instant love, and I told him that we had only just met, but even still I knew it wasn’t because my skin didn’t melt from my bones at his touch, and my soul didn’t sting, and I didn’t have butterflies in my tummy, only the shredded ham and egg salad from supper. I let him kiss me one more time, and then I walked away.”

“You slyboots! All this while!”

“All this while,” Katherine agreed. “So tell me now, please, just between us, because I love you and you love me, and you’re the one person on earth I’ve entrusted with my confession of those delicious Easter kisses. Is it the truth for you two, Maddy? The truth, or the looking glass?”

“Oh, the truth,” Madeleine said softly. “After how far we’ve come, how could it be anything but the truth? My soul does sting.”

They looked at each other, frosted with light, alike and not, a matched pair and not, two halves of a whole as only sisters could be. Two halves about to follow two acutely divergent paths. And even though that hurt a bit, even though it smarted, it was still all right.

“But that’s a shame about Alasdair.” Madeleine sighed, facing away again. “I seem to recall he was quite rich.”

“Stinking rich,” Katherine said, laughing. “But I never would have been able to stand the Scottish winters, even if his touch did make me melt.”

“It’s a lot of snow.”

“A lot of snow, and a lot of days and nights trapped by the snow. No parties or balls. No dancing with anyone but him.”

“Did I say sagacious before? I definitely meant wily.”

“I will accept your compliment, missus.”

Madeleine linked their arms again, leaning against her sister’s side as the wind brushed by, and the fish smell came and went, and the Noma sliced towards the future.

After a while, she whispered, “I wish I were as brave as you.”

Katherine was leaning back; they’d found their careful balance. “Isn’t that queer? I’ve always wished to be as strong as you.”

The ocean slid past. The moon beamed down, scattered white fireflies across the water.

“Perhaps I’ll become a mermaid instead of all that other nonsense,” Madeleine said to the view. “Being a missus, I mean. Having to cluck.”

Katherine glanced at her.

“Mermaids still get to wear pearls, so that part’s fine. And they live forever, or very nearly forever, don’t they? Enchanted lives that go on and on. No curly piles of hair, however. I’ll wear it down, with a crown of sea flowers.”

“Do mermaids have husbands?” asked a new voice, just behind them.

They both turned, Katherine giving a swift, startled laugh.

“Colonel Astor! You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding! It’s terrible luck, you know!”

“I just saw her at dinner.” He joined them at the railing. “And you’ve put me in the awkward position of having to point out that the yacht’s not that big.”

Madeleine smiled up at him, his craggy lavender-and-silver face, and he smiled back. Heat filled her up again, that fine, champagne heat, and her soul did sting.

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.

No one is going to have to drag me to the altar.